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Words are a haven. A rest for the soul. A release for the spirit. Healing for brokenness.

Words are power. Power to heal, soothe, forgive. Power to anger, rile, incite. Words can bring people to their knees—hurting, healing, rejoicing, rebuilding.

Funny how sometimes the words not said are the ones that hurt the most. The silence where pretty lines once stood. And danced.

Words flow from the pen onto the page. Emotion leaking from the ink like blood. Curling, twisting into language. How to write the heart. How to say that which is felt. How to translate this tight knot of feeling into the lines and loops of letters. How to capture the words of the soul. How to see the wind. How to taste the sun. How to hear the silent grieving in the hearts of all. The old man holding the door at the mall for the young mother and child. The moody teenager sitting alone in the corner of the library. The smiling father swinging his baby around in the air at the family Christmas party. With what words do their souls quietly ache? Perhaps if I find them in myself, I can find them in others. Art is the translator of feeling; the interpreter of emotion. Without art, how could we feel? How could we see?